“Booth Gunnarson was Fae born to a Giant mother. His Elven parentage is unknown. He was a bastard, born of an affair with—and this is the good news, or bad depending on your outlook—theQueenof Jotunheim.” Veda’s eyes were wide and insinuating while Solveig internalized this information.
“If Booth’s mother was the queen, then that makes him ...”
“Maddock’s half-brother.”
Afterahalfhourof waiting for Solveig outside the gates, Westley figured she’d already made her way to their training ring. But when he reached the opening of the clearing, she was nowhere to be found.
Odd. She was never late.
Surveying the clearing to make sure he was alone, Westley knelt in the soft grass. The day was cool and overcast as usual, and the fog from the early morning hours had not yet dissipated, casting an unearthly scene. If it weren’t for the trees surrounding him, he’d think he was in the clouds of Valhalla.
Moisture from the grass soaked into his pants and he took a moment to appreciate the small grove of peace Solveig had managed to carve out for herself. She attained her peace the same way he did—surrounded by weapons and bloodstained gravel.
If he tried, he could inhale her scent from the traces of sweat and blood she’d left behind in this area. His heart rate increased. Westley closed his eyes and started to pray.
His prayers had been less frequent as of late, and he took this spare moment to remember his gods. To thank them for his power and for the chance he’d been given to make things right for his people. He reached up in a silent plea to guide him in his cause—to show him what to do, how to proceed.
He prayed for his heart and his mind to once again live in harmony. Silence answered him and Westley found no peace—only the swirling clouds above him responded as small drops of rain started to fall.
Frustrated with himself and with the gods, he stood, glad Solveig had not found him on his knees but irritated that she hadn’t yet arrived. He warmed up and went through part of his routine, trying to lose himself in the movements he’d so long ago memorized.
But his mind would not focus. He was distracted by every twig snap and rustle of the forest leaves.
The sound of footsteps neared and Westley’s head snapped up, a quip about tardiness already on his tongue. He was disappointed to see Noren and Maddock strolling into the clearing. He gritted his teeth together before he could snap. Noren shouldn’t have brought him here.
It wasn’t a secret by any means, but he didn’t want Maddock to taint Solveig’s safe place.
“Alone, Your Highness?” Maddock queried.
Westley gestured around him. “Obviously.”
“Where is our dear old general today?”
Westley shrugged his shoulders and glared at Noren. Maddock didn’t miss the look.
“Lovers quarrel, perhaps?”
He bit his tongue to keep from saying something rash. “I do not keep track of the general’s whereabouts.”
“Perhaps you should,” Maddock said suggestively. “You see, we just came from town—oh, forgive me,camp—and our little she-demon was entering none other than General Arlanson’s tent. She went quite willingly, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Why should I care whose tent she enters?” Westley asked. Maddock was lying. Solveig wouldn’t give Arlanson the time of day, let alone go to him.
“You mean you’re not upset that she seeks out another male after you spent the night in her bed? Maybe you knew what kind of whor—” A dagger blew past Maddock’s head and silenced him before he could finish. Blood trickled down his face from the cut on his cheek.
“Say one more word and I will rip out your serpent tongue,” Westley threatened, stepping up to the Giant.
A knowing smile crept over Maddock’s face, and Westley cursed inwardly. He’d fallen for Maddock’s bait. No matter, he wouldn’t tolerate anyone speaking of her that way.
“You slept with her?” Noren asked, eyes narrowing. Westley ground his teeth. He and Solveig had woken so early this morning he was sure no one had seen him exit her tent, then re-enter and exit again.
Gods, that had been a disaster. He couldn’t dwell on it now, though, not when he had to keep every twitch of his face in check in front of Maddock.
“In a manner of speaking, yes. In the way Maddock is insinuating? No.”
Incredulity rolled off Noren. “Why?”
Westley didn’t want to betray Solveig’s secrets, but he was backed into a corner. He had a duty to his people that far outweighed any feelings he might be developing for the general.
